The Melody
by Foxcub2
Summary: The Joker has something on his mind, and has something he shouldn't... A one-shot dark fic set during TDK/non-canon/Nolanverse. Rated M just incase but maybe T for some.


**This is my first attempt at a one-shot dark fic, inspired by so many others that I have read and enjoyed, but mainly by Long, Long Time Ago from the Pan's Labyrinth Soundtrack. This is the tune that I imagine being hummed throughout. If you haven't heard it then I can't recommend it enough, it's beautiful and you can listen to it for free on YouTube. It may also set the mood whilst you read this. Enjoy! p.s I don't own any of the following characters.  
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Music played in his head more often than other peoples, he was sure of it; possibly even more than composers. But he didn't know, and didn't care but if he ever met one, he'd open their head to find out.

But this music, these notes, this simple, pure, melody kept him company; it haunted him in a way that none ever had. Even the rabid voices of his mind could be silenced temporarily by its sound.

This music would wake him at night, distract him in the day and disturbingly command his mood. Her tune, her melody, was now his inspiration,

And she was oblivious.

He moved through the abandoned theatre, his home, a place that had been devoid of music and theatrics for years. Only the screams for mercy from his hostages, beautiful and harmonious in their way, had filled his lonely grave and at one time that had been enough. That had been his music but now he couldn't remember being truly happy at that time.

Perhaps that time had never existed and so what if it had?

She existed now.

He had wanted to share this, share it with his favourite nemesis but _he_ would never understand. _He _wouldn't hear the beauty in her cries but that was _his_ fault, _his_ failing, and perhaps if _he_ knew, the music would have to stop, and he didn't like the idea of that. Not. One. Bit

He opened the door softly; he didn't want to interrupt her. He wanted to listen for a moment. Sometimes he would listen and then leave, sometimes he would stay… and play. He didn't want her to know that there was a reason, he didn't want her to know that it was her song that pulled him to her, or she might stop,

And the game would end and he would have lost...

And he hated losing.

He crept slowly across the plush carpet, stained and worn by time. Time that she had spent here, panicked and afraid. Some would rip it up, replace it with something new and untarnished but he liked it like this.

No he loved it.

Every mark, every scar on the carpet told its own story and confirmed his memories of the time they spent together. For this would be a past he would never want to forget.

He ran his gloved finger along one tear in the carpet. It satisfied him especially. It marked a time when she had still felt hope, still thought that she could escape, could beat him at his own game. As if she could make the rules. The carpet had torn beneath her perfectly manicured finger nails as she had dug deeply into the fibres, trying to drag herself to freedom; her legs had failed her long ago.

One of those nails had come lose and now stood upright and alone, a witness to all that came after.

He hadn't cleaned it away,

He doubted he ever would.

As he got closer, he could finally hear it. Only three days had passed since his last visit but he had missed the softness of her voice, as she hummed the melody in her own unique way. His mind could never replay it accurately. He tried to sing it for the masked vigilante last time they fought but _he_ hadn't recognised it, and it had made him laugh for hours_. He_ would never know her the way he did.

All those little emotions…

As soon as he rapped his knuckles on the wooden lid, the tune ended and he heard her gasp in surprise. Shortly it was replaced with the most moving sounds, like a lullaby; the trembling sobs, the whimpers, as she readied herself for another performance at the theatre…

Just for him.

Gripping the sides of the large coffin, he dragged its heavy weight from beneath the bed and deftly worked the lock. The sobs turned into cries and he felt his pulse race in anticipation…

Tearing of the lid savagely, he peered in and smiled mercilessly at her

The tears didn't affect him; they only enhanced her beauty and she was beautiful.

Just like the first night he had seen her.

'Hello Rachael.' he purred.


End file.
